Tight Grip On Reality
by oneforthehaters
Summary: Eames always thought he had a tight grip on reality. As long as his poker chip is in his pocket, weighted down to keep him grounded, he's okay. At some point the line can blur, but he's always believed he had a good grip on that.


**Author's Notes: im not entirely sure where this idea came from. if it doesn't make much sense, well, blame my brain. ha. reviews make my day. so please, leave a review telling me what you think. and i hope you enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: i dont own inception or any of its characters. im just playin' in the sanbox, kids :)**

* * *

Her hair is long and brown and curly, framing a pale heart-shaped face. When she smiles it's bright, cheerful, everything someone would hope to see when they're feeling down. Her clothes are pristine and neat, not a wrinkle in sight. Just like her hair, her eyes are a deep chocolate color, rich in their beauty and surrounded by long dark lashes.

She's the perfect little girl.

And Eames is heartbroken over this.

She's the spitting image of what Eames lost long ago as she stands there holding his hand, grin perfectly in place, her cheeks rosy because of the cold wind. She introduced herself as Annabelle Louise, age six. Eames had to grin at that no matter how torn up he is inside.

Arthur's child. _Arthur's child_.

He didn't want to believe it when he saw Arthur, his Arthur, walking out of a candy shop with the little girl in tow. He chose not to believe it until they were face to face, Annabelle introducing herself, and Arthur having the dignity to at least be slightly uncomfortable about the whole thing.

They exchanged half-hearted pleasantries just to spite Annabelle but on the inside Eames wants to run away. He wants to turn around and just take off, little girl be damned, and pretend like Arthur didn't just randomly walk back into his life even if it is only for a moment.

It isn't until he's walking away, until there's a hand wrapped around his wrist, that he realizes that _Arthur is here_. He turns, plasters a fake smile on his face, and waits for Arthur to say something. Annabelle is biting her bottom lip now. She looks as nervous as a six year old can be.

"Come by our place for dinner," Arthur says quietly. Eames stares at him like he's grown two heads but finds himself agreeing anyway. "We'll see you at five-thirty then." Arthur gives Eames the address before tugging on Annabelle's hand and walking in the opposite direction.

Eames closes his eyes and just breathes.

* * *

Eames always thought he had a tight grip on reality. As long as his poker chip is in his pocket, weighted down to keep him grounded, he's okay. Being a forger pushes the limits between what is reality and what's a dream. At some point the line can blur, at some point it can unravel, but he's always believed he had a good grip on that.

Until now.

Now he's not so sure. No matter how many times he reaches into his pocket and holds onto his poker chip for dear life the weight isn't going to change; the feeling isn't going to change. But he figures that at some point his line would blur and now is that time. Arthur walking back into his life on a random cold afternoon screwed it all up.

He thought, seven years ago, that he had all but buried the memory of Arthur. After everything they went through Eames pushed Arthur away and in the end he lost it all. He lost Arthur to a pretty brunette with sexy curves and the perfect personality. He lost Arthur to someone he, Eames, could never be. And he just let it all go.

Now it's back to bite him the ass in the form of a six year old little girl.

He sighs heavily, hand closing around the chip once more before forcing himself out of the bar to hail a taxi. He might as well get this over with or else he'll really lose his mind and just maybe end up shooting himself to see if this really is a dream.

But he wouldn't do that. He knows he wouldn't. The idea of Arthur, even in a dream, is too appealing to pass up. He hasn't seen Arthur in his dreams in a long time. It took many sleepless nights and countless numbers of jobs to keep his projection of Arthur at bay. Eventually he controlled it enough to keep the point man locked away just like Cobb kept Mal locked away.

He knew it would just be a matter of time before everything changed.

* * *

Annabelle Louise is the sweetest six year old Eames has ever had the pleasure of meeting. He doesn't meet many kids, not in his line of work, but the ones he does meet are never this polite. But he figures that if a kid has any trace of Arthur in them then they are going to be just like him.

She smiles when he compliments her, she offers to help with the dishes, she excuses herself from the dinner table; she's as neat and pristine as Arthur himself. But he can tell that she's been eyeing him all night. No matter how hard she tried Eames could see right through her. He could see the way she was analyzing him like he might bite. She isn't sure of him at all.

And that kind of scares him.

* * *

Annabelle is playing in the living room. Her dolls are seated on the couch while she plays with puppets, giving them different voices and pretending like they live in a fairytale world consisting of dragons and fairies and the good kind of monsters. Eames watches Arthur watch her from the doorway. He looks like a man in love.

Arthur used to look at Eames that way. He stopped looking at Eames that way a long time ago.

"She looks just like you," he comments then takes a sip of his now-cold coffee. Arthur shrugs but there's a soft smile on his face.

"That's what everyone says," Arthur starts, pausing to take a sip of his coffee then turn around and head into the kitchen, "but I think she looks more like her mother."

The silence following is slightly suffocating. Eames reaches up to loosen a tie that isn't there, realizing a second later that he must look dumb before dropping his hand and stuffing it in his pocket. Arthur goes about the kitchen cleaning random things that don't need cleaning; he picks up a coffee mug and rubs at a spot that probably isn't there, does the same thing with a plate sitting in a neat stack, waiting to be put away.

Eames is about to say something—anything—to break the silence until Arthur beats him to it. "Her name was Katy, by the way." It's surprising, to say the least, that Arthur is willing to be open about this, and with Eames of all people. He's a bit taken aback but he hides the surprise as well as he can.

He notices the way Arthur's posture stiffens, the way his hands grip the edge of the countertop tighter. Arthur sighs heavily like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulder. Eames supposes that maybe he does, but Eames doesn't know anything about Arthur anymore. Not the Arthur he knew once upon a time. This is a new man standing before him with his shoulders stiff and his hands white-knuckled and strands of hair sticking out of place.

Before he can stop himself Eames is setting his mug down and crossing the room to lean against the counter next to Arthur. He ducks his head enough to peer into Arthur's face. Normally he would grin or crack a joke or make some sarcastic remark, maybe throw "darling" somewhere into to phrase. But this is different. This is seven years later. This is a different man, someone he doesn't know anymore.

"What are you doing here, Eames?"

Eames wants to laugh. "You invited me silly, you-"

Arthur cuts him off. "You know what I mean." He sighs again, closes his eyes. "Why did you even agree to come here? Last time I checked we hated each other."

_Only because we pushed each other away_, he thinks.

"So where is Katy?" He's desperate for a subject change; anything to get off the topic of why they haven't been each other's lives for years now.

Arthur must notice but he doesn't say anything. This almost disappoints Eames. Back when they were still sociable with each other Arthur would normally make a smart comeback or at least give Eames one of his famous glares. Now…now he's just closed off and let's things pass on by like they don't mean anything at all.

"Katy left," Arthur says so calmly Eames would think the man was okay with this. "She left me and she left her daughter, three years ago."

"I'm…I'm sorry, Arthur." Eames means it, he really does. Just because they haven't seen or heard from each other in so long doesn't mean he completely stopped caring for Arthur.

Arthur just glances at him then pushes away from the counter. He steps closer to Eames, almost breathing the same air as him. "How did-" He huffs out a breath, shakes his head before stepping away. "How did we get to _this_, Eames?"

Eames shrugs. It's the safest answer for now.

"We used to be…" Arthur trails off when Annabelle shuffles into the kitchen rubbing her eyes.

"Daddy, what are you doin'?" Annabelle yawns loudly.

Arthur smiles and holds his arms out. Despite her age and size he's able to lift her effortlessly into his arms and hold her close. For a moment Eames feels an ache in his heart that he doesn't want to describe or think about, much less _feel_. Arthur looks at him once before disappearing out of the room with Annabelle.

While he's gone, Eames heads into the living room to look around. There are pictures everywhere. Most of them are of Annabelle at different stages of life. In some of them there's a pretty brunette smiling brightly and holding Annabelle close, Arthur's smile just as big and happy while he stares at his baby. And then, hidden among the baby pictures, he sees something familiar.

Eames grabs the aged frame and stares at the still glossy photo behind the glass. It's two different photos, really. The biggest one is a group picture: all of them meeting for one quick job, the last time they all see each other on a regular basis. They all look happy and carefree.

The last, however, is a strip of pictures. Eames remembers this. One day, after a lot of begging and pleading and pet names, he had convinced Arthur to get in a photo booth with him. In the end the pictures turned out silly and ridiculous. Eames figured Arthur would have stashed them in a box somewhere to be kept out of site of visitors. So to see them in a frame brings a smile to his face.

"That was a good day."

Eames jumps. He spins around, hand flying to his chest. "You scared me, darling. Don't do that," he jokes but the meaning behind it is half-hearted. Darling used to be such a simple pet name he would throw around to piss Arthur off and then, later, it became more. There's a slight flicker of sadness in Arthur's eyes.

"You can leave if you want," he says softly.

"And why would I want to do that?"

The smile he gets in return makes the heartache worth it.

* * *

At some point in his life Eames knew that karma would come back and bite him in the ass. For all the good he's done in his life, he's done more bad. And letting Arthur go was probably the worst thing he ever did. It's something he's regretted since the day it happened. Now it's all come full circle to taunt him, to whisper in his ear all the things he could have had if he hadn't been such an ass.

Even now Arthur is still handsome. He's still pristine and neat, despite the messy halo of hair and the dark circles under his eyes, and he still wears only the best. He's still everything Eames wants and should still have.

"I'm sorry," he suddenly blurts out.

Under normal circumstances Arthur would roll his eyes or tell Eames he's being ridiculous. That was a long time ago and this is now. "You have nothing to be sorry for," Arthur responds. He looks ridiculously tired. "You may have pushed me away but it wasn't entirely your fault."

"Arthur-"

Arthur holds up a hand. "We tried, we did. You were such a sarcastic, loud _ass_ when I first met you but things change; people change. You were ready to commit when I wasn't. When I was ready, you pushed me away and I…I regret that so much. I hate that we lost contact. I hate that I let you think I was completely over you. I'm sorry for telling you I hated you."

Eames lets out a short, humorless laugh. "Well, I'm not really sure how to respond to that." He stares at a spot on the carpet until he hears Arthur suck in a breath and let it out in a huff. "I'm sorry for letting you go to _Katy_. But we're here now and we can't take back these past seven years."

"So what do we do?" Arthur sounds almost desperate. Desperate for some kind of answer to this mess they got themselves into.

Eames wants to tell Arthur they can try again, that they can go back to what they were. But he knows, and Arthur knows, that it will only lead to bad things. They tried once and it failed. Arthur is still everything Eames wants—that he needs—in his life for balance but they both have moved on in some way or form.

"We keep moving on."

* * *

Eventually Eames knew that Arthur would come back into his life. He didn't know how long it would be for and he didn't know if it would be permanently or not. This feels like some kind of closure. They both got an answer they needed.

And now, as much as it breaks his heart to leave, he has to. They don't hate each other anymore. They can both move on with their respective lives. Arthur with Annabelle, Eames with…with whatever comes his way.

Karma may have come back to bite him the ass but he figures that in the end, everything will be okay.

* * *

**so, um, reviews, please? **


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